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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241523">My Deadly Little Mutt</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueLlama717/pseuds/TrueLlama717'>TrueLlama717</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anyway to the normal tags, But i sorta do, Canon's lying dead in a ditch somewhere, F/M, Hello brave and patient reader who got to the end, I commend you valiant effort, I swear i don't hate Gale, I swear it wasn't me, I think that's all the characters, I wrote this on a whim don't judge, Kidnapping, Like seriously I don't even know yet, Superpowers, The actual hunger games in this is different, Unethical Experimentation, What the hell am I doing with these tags, Who let me do this, it kinda sucks, possibly more tags in the future, relationship drama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:34:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23241523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrueLlama717/pseuds/TrueLlama717</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Katniss Everdeen loves Gale Hawthorne.<br/>Gale Hawthorne loves Katniss Everdeen.<br/>Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne are reaped for the 74th annual Hunger Games with 22 other children between the ages of 12 and 18.<br/>But this one is different.<br/>And now, Katniss Everdeen is different.<br/>Now, she is the girl on fire.<br/>And the girl on fire decides that she doesn't love Gale Hawthorne as she once thought.<br/>She loves Peeta Mellark, the strange boy she met in the arena. Only he wasn't a tribute. Or a game maker. He was their weapon.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katniss Everdeen/Gale Hawthorne (Tempoary), Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi!!<br/>If you're reading this, please note that there was no plan, I am still a child and this sucks, and that this is purely for fun. I just constantly want to find more fanfics about the Hunger Games (mostly about Peeta) and I decided there are probably a lot of other people like that, and this is my gift to you, albeit a really crappy one.\<br/>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Katniss POV</em>
</p><p>“We could do it, you know,” Gale says, his cold hand gently stroking my cheek. He’s trembling.</p><p>“What?” I ask, and although I know deep down what he means, I don’t want to acknowledge it.</p><p>“Leave the district. Run off. Live in the woods. You and I, we could make it.”</p><p>I sigh, pulling away from his touch.</p><p>“We can’t. How could we leave them? Their obliviousness and fear shouldn’t be a death sentence. And we have too many kids to bring. There’s no way they would be able to survive in the wilderness.” He nods, eyes downcast. But his muscles are tense, his jaw locked. So I know this conversation isn’t over. Simply postponed. And so we walk back to District 12 in silence. I can tell from his body language, the stiff movements of his limbs, the way his face is purposefully angled towards the thick foliage, away from me, that he’s still angry. That he stands by what he said. He knows that, too. We’re an open book to each other. But we don’t speak. No apologies or accusations are exchanged. And that’s it. That’s the dynamic of our relationship. Ignore the other’s mishaps, flaws, outbursts… but to an unhealthy degree. We don’t recognise what we should as red flags that we are not meant for each other. But I love him. I love him as he loves me. For even though the depth of our love seems adequate for the intensity of our relationship, most those depths are unexplored. And somewhere, in the deepest, darkness bowels of my being, I know and accept that. Heck, I even welcome it! But I shouldn’t. And I can’t. He is Gale. I am Katniss. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, as he dubbed me many years ago, due to my explosive temper. And when I kiss him, I tell myself that I am satisfied, that I love him, but there’s a hunger for more. Something else. Something different. Gale and I, we’re alike. Eerily so, with our rough edges and unfriendly demeanour. We even look alike, but I once heard this term in passing, that I worry might be accurate, and the impact of it on my life might be limitless.</p><p>They say that opposites attract.</p><p> </p><p>Sorry it's so short!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Peeta's POV. He's kinda insane, so that's why it's written so strangely.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Peeta POV</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They say that opposites attract.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Gale.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                                                  Katniss.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                                                                                                                                          Love.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>              District 12</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                                                                                    Run.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Woods.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>     Fear.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                        Girl on fire.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             Run.</em>
</p><p>“Peeta, would you follow me please?”</p><p>
  <em>Fear.</em>
</p><p>“It’s 6.00 am.”</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>“Get up.”</p><p>
  <em>Katniss Everdeen.</em>
</p><p>“Now.”</p><p>
  <em>Run.</em>
</p><p>Words. So many meaningless words. Important words. Useless words. Words that plague me in my waking hours, my dreams, my nightmares. <em>So </em>many words. Tap. Tap tap. I glance up, snapping back to reality at seeing her. The one in the white coat. Tapping her foot impatiently. She must be disappointed with me. Bad things happen when she’s disappointed. Tap. Her eyes meet mine, and her face contorts in anger. She grabs my arm, fake nails digging into my flesh. I hold back my cry of pain as she leads me out the cell door, and into the sterile white hallway. My eyes ache just looking at it. Tears prick at the edge of my vision, but I must keep them contained. Just like I must keep my secrets contained. Secrets are deadly. I am deadly. They are deadly. A slight misconception could be deadly. Many things in this life are deadly. It’s a never-ending cycle of be or be killed, of fighting tooth and nail for a slightly longer life, even though people deny it under the guise of ‘having others’ best interests at heart.’ I know that. I don’t pretend that I haven’t killed. That I’m innocent. That our species’ best talent isn’t destroying ourselves.</p><p>I stare at the pictures taken of the arena, of the place they will send me. Foreign terrain, nature, rules. A large circle with a ten kilometre circumference, sectored off into quarters. Top left, summer. I’m told that’s hot. The trees there are green. Top right, autumn. The same type of trees, but the leaves look… dead. Bottom left, winter. Thick, pure, white snow cushions the grass, the tree branches, every surface in sight. Bottom right, spring. So many colourful flowers springing up every which way. In the centre, a meadow, six plates in every quarter. The individual seasons seem less severe and intense there. Safer. So that no one gets an unfair advantage. That’s where I’m going. In a week, they say. In my underground prison, I have no way of measuring time. A week is meaningless to me. Some say it’s not long, some say they drag by slowly. I don’t really care either way. I’ll still end up there, still kill people. I’ll still come back here when it’s over, probably to be sent in again. I don’t even know these people I’m meant to kill. Don’t even know why they’re there. Were they criminals? Murderers? Will my own crimes against the 24 people, my own murders, be excusable? Or are they innocent? Will they stay with me forever? In the sick nightmares my brain conjures up every night? I feel sick. I want to run. Hide. Forget. But I can’t. I can’t forget the things I’ve done. The blood. There was <em>so much blood. On my hands. On the ground. My fault. It’s my fault. My fault, my fault, my fault. Murderer, murderer. Blood.</em></p><p>
  <em>Murderer.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My fault.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m a murderer.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m a weapon.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m a person. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m a mutt.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I killed him. My fault, my fault.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My fault, murderer.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Murderer.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>They </em>
  </strong>
  <em>are the murderers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My fault.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Theirs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Katniss Everdeen, the Girl in my Head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Get out, get out.</em>
</p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>WHY WON’T YOU GET OUT!?!?</em>
  </strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ok, that was weird. I have no idea how to write this kind of thing. Any suggestions or constructive criticism are welcome! Anything to make this less of a mess...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Um... Gale goes to the bakery to sell some squirrels.<br/>There's some backstory in this chapter, but it's kinda awkward.<br/>Enjoy!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Gale POV</em>
</p>
<p>“Mr Mellark, are you there?” I shout as I pound on the wood of the back door. I scowl as Mrs Mellark opens it, and she mimics the expression.</p>
<p>“What do you want?” She asks, glaring. You would think I was a piece of dirt on the bottom of her shoes. She holds the door only wide enough for her face to peer through the crack, because obviously if some Seam kid is at her door all they want would be to steal her <em>precious </em>pastries.</p>
<p>“Can I see you husband, <em>please?</em>” I reply, the sarcasm thick in my voice. I cross my arms against my chest, stepping back a little. You would think that if she works in a bakery, she’d smell nice, like what she cooks. Unfortunately not.</p>
<p>“Why?” She stares pointedly at my game bag. “Is it something… illegal?” I raise my eyebrows in mock surprise, holding a hand over my chest.</p>
<p>“My, Mrs Mellark, how could such a nice woman wound me so? You know I would never do anything of the sort-“</p>
<p>“I’m tired of you. Just don’t be bringing my husband down with you. Without him, we wouldn’t be able to keep the business running.” She leaves me with one last dirty look, shouting something muffled by the thick wooden door. I can’t make out any of her words. Soon, Mr Mellark pops his head out the door. Finally. My exasperation must show on my face, as he winces in sympathy.</p>
<p>“Yeah… she can be a handful. Believe me, I know. What did you get?”</p>
<p>I glance around, then discreetly pass him the game bag.</p>
<p>“I think your wife knew what was in the bag,” I say as he rummages through with a faint smile on his face. He shrugs as he looks up, adopting a thoughtful expression.</p>
<p>“I’ll give you ten for the three of them. And… I don’t think my wife really cares. She won’t rat you out, and… she just likes to feel superior, in control, knowing things she’s not meant to know. I don’t think she means you any harm. She really only worries about herself.” I nod, feigning sympathy. I don’t really understand what goes through that woman’s head, and I don’t think I want to. I supress a laugh at the absurdity of it all; selling squirrels to a <em>merchant, </em>discussing the ridiculous antics of his wife. Oblivious to the stranger humour I find in the situation, he continues. “She was a relatively nice woman before. Stunning, wouldn’t hurt a fly. I fell for her, with many other young men, faster than the eye could blink. I was the fool who ended up marrying her, though,” he recites, eyes glazed as he stares into a far away place only he can see. A bitter expression overtakes his face. “She changed, though. After our two eldest, she was pregnant again. We were hard pressed for money-“ he glances at me sheepishly, gesturing violently with his hands. “- probably not as much as you are, but we weren’t used to it. Putting food on the table was a struggle. My wife, she… signed up for… you know, I don’t even know! Some… sick human experimentation run by the Capitol.” His eyes darkened. “It paid a lot, though, and one night, she just took off! She came back the next week, pale, underweight, and collapsed in my arms. She told me she lost the baby. That was the last display of affection she ever displayed towards me. We never talked about it. She started to get physical. And now, she’s…” he gestures weakly towards the closed bakery door, face pained. After a glance into my  eyes, he laughs awkwardly, “I don’t know why I told you all of that. You should go now, I have to get back to work. Uh… bye, I guess…?” He hastily retreats to the warmth of his home, dragging the heavy door shut behind him. I step back, turning to leave while trying to make sense of that conversation. Why would he tell me that? Why now? Why <em>me?</em></p>
<p>When I finally reach our little house at the edge of the district, my mother is running around frantically. She waves me over, relief evident on her face. It’s haggard, bearing lines from the stress of raising kids in the Seam. She is pale, a sheen of sweat glistening in the sunlight.</p>
<p>“Gale! Hurry up, it’s time for the Reaping!”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Um... feel free to comment if you have anything to say, negative or positive, I don't mind. I'll hopefully update in the next few days, and, as you can probably guess, the next chapter will be the Reaping. It'll be in Prim's POV, cuz I thought that might be interesting.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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